


Third Class Apparitions

by somethingsomething



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon typical drug use, Ghosts, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingsomething/pseuds/somethingsomething
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ghosts <i>clearly</i> don't exist because ghosts are <i>stupid</i>, Holtzy," Ransom says, repeatedly, with several variations, throughout four years of undergrad.</p><p>It's a nice sentiment while it lasts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Class Apparitions

“Bro, what is that?” Ransom says. He’s drunk, but he’s not that drunk.

Holster squints at his desk. Ransom thinks Holster might be almost that drunk.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s a care package from my aunt.”

Ransom sways a little in the middle of Holster’s dorm room. Alright, he’s definitely almost that drunk. “Why’s it all black and orange?”

Holster smiles at the package, then at Ransom. It kind of feels like the bottom falls out of the floor. Or something.

Yep. Definitely that drunk.

“Auntie H really loves Halloween,” Holster says.

Ransom nods and stores that away in the part of his brain that is quickly becoming tattooed with HOLSTER.

Holster’s smile changes into something softer. “C’mon, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Ransom falls asleep squashed into Holster’s single, very grateful Holster’s roommate went home for the weekend.

It should be noted that this was _before_ Mandy and Jenny.

 

“Yo Holtzy, did you just pinch my butt?”

Holster looks at Ransom, then the two cups of tub juice in his hands. “Definitely not, bro.”

Ransom’s brows draw close together. “Someone definitely did though.”

Holster shrugs. He smiles. “It _is_ Halloween night.”

Ransom narrows his eyes. “And?”

Holster shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Well you know, it’s a night when the divisions between our plane and the next thin and _things_ can make themselves known more readily than usual.”

Ransom squints so hard Holster becomes an outline. “Ghosts aren’t real, Holtzy,” he says. He snatches one of the cups out of Holster’s hands and drinks half of it.

Holster shrugs again. “Suit yourself, Rans.”

Ransom absolutely does not crowd into Holster’s space more than usual when someone snaps their gum right in his ear.

 

“What’re you doing for the summer?” Ransom asks in April. He’s bravely resisting the urge to tangle his legs with Holster’s under the library table.

Holster shrugs. “Auntie H said she and her business partners could really use someone to organize their books this summer. I said I didn’t have that much experience and she said that’s chill, none of them know what they’re doing anyway.”

“Auntie H sounds like a trip.”

Holster laughs and looks up from his laptop. “Dude she so is. She’s an engineer, and my sisters and I sometimes got her final projects as Christmas and birthday presents when she was getting her master’s.” He leans back in his seat and stretches his legs out until they bump into Ransom’s. He doesn’t pull away or say sorry.

 

It’s two weeks into September, and the attic is still warm at night. Or, it should be.

Ransom leans over the edge of his bunk. Holster isn’t happy about being woken up, but he doesn’t say anything when Ransom cuddles closer than is strictly necessary, even in a narrow college bunk.

 

Ransom narrows his eyes at Holster when he comes back to the attic after class. “Did you skip class to stand outside the shower after lunch this afternoon?”

Holster raises an eyebrow. “No? Bro, that’d be hella creepy.”

“That’s what I’m saying! Jack said there wasn’t anyone else home, but there was definitely someone there!”

Holster leans back against the doorframe, backpack still hanging off of one shoulder. “Maybe the boys are right and the Haus really is haunted.”

Ransom narrows his eyes. “Ghosts don’t fucking exist, Holtzy.”

Holster raises his hands. “We only understand 4% of the universe.”

“I can’t believe your takeaways from spending the summer in New York was ‘Auntie H’s secretary is smoking,’ and, ‘We only understand 4% of the universe.’”

Holster shrugs and stands up. He drops his bag on the way to Ransom’s desk, where he promptly drapes himself over Ransom’s shoulders to peer at the paper Ransom’s writing.

“I mean, I also learned that Auntie H has zero game.”

“Must run in families.”

“Bro.”

 

Ransom wakes up at 3am to the Backstreet Boys and NYSNC* fives times the week leading up to Halloween weekend. He also crawls into Holster’s bed at 3:06 five times.

“Dude, I love you, but this is getting kinda weird.”

“Fuck you, Holster. It’s not like I asked for a selection of the Backstreet Boys greatest hits to wake me up in the middle of the night.”

 

Bitty thinks all of this is adorable. Ransom thinks Bitty needs to rethink his worldview. Bitty threatens to withhold the pumpkin pie. Ransom apologizes.

 

The team makes a scavenger hunt out of the Halloween parties on campus Halloween night. This means the Haus is mostly-dark and mostly-quiet by the time Bitty, Ransom and Holster stumble back through the front door.

Ransom and Holster leave Bitty at his door and take turns in the bathroom. Ransom is the first one back up to the attic. He stands in the doorway. He can’t hear any pop music, but that doesn’t mean that he _won’t_.

“You know, I don’t think they’re gonna hurt you.”

Ransom doesn’t scream, but he does jump. “Damnit Holtz!”

Holster laughs, warm and low. He reaches out for Ransom until his hands find Ransom’s waist.

“Sorry, bro,” Holster says. His breath is hot against Ransom’s neck.

Ransom grumbles. He can’t stumble over his words if he doesn’t actually say anything.

Holster pushes Ransom towards the bottom bunk. “They were right about your booty, though,” Holster says, like it’s nothing. “Those squats are really paying off, bro.”

Ransom crawls under Holster’s sheets and absolutely, one-hundred-percent _does not_ shove his nose into Holster’s pillow. “Thanks, bro,” he says, grinning up at Holster.

Holster hand is unfairly soft and tender as he brushes Ransom’s jaw. Ransom stopped blaming these kinds of feelings on cheap vodka and cheaper beer a while ago.

 

At some in the night, the sheet must fall off of Holster’s shoulder. Ransom wakes up to the feeling of someone dragging the sheet, only – 

Only Holster’s curled around him, one hand under his pillow, the other around Ransom’s waist.

Ransom cranes his head over his shoulder as much as he can, but no one’s there. He chalks it up to the shitty beer at the shitty LAX bro party and turns back to the wall. He’s pretty sure he imagines someone saying, “They’re, like, literally the cutest,” right before he falls asleep.

 

Fall semester ends, Ransom ekes out an A in first semester orgo with minimal breakdowns, Christmas and New Year’s come and go, Ransom and Holster roadtrip back to Samwell. Lardo comes back, hockey starts again, second semester orgo sucks less than first semester, but more than second semester physics.

Holster hums along to the fight song the night before a home game in early February. It takes Ransom way too long to realize that someone who is definitely not Holster is _playing_ the fight song.

 

“You know,” Holster says as he hands Ransom a takeout latte from Annie’s, “I could ask my auntie and her coworkers to come take a look at the Haus.” It’s early March, and the weather insists that spring break can’t possibly be happening in a week and a half.

Ransom takes a deep breath of his latte. Michaela must have made it, he can already smell how perfectly balanced the chocolate and hazelnut is. “Thanks, bro,” he says. “And why is your Auntie coming to look at the Haus?”

“To check for ghosts.”

Ransom very nearly stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “She can’t come check for ghosts, because _ghosts don’t exist_.”

Holster shrugs. “I just know they keep you up sometimes, so if they do exist, great, we know, and if they don’t, great, maybe you’ll be able to sleep easier, you know?”

Ransom relaxes. “That’s actually really fucking sweet, bro, thanks.”

Holster turns to him and smiles. “Anything for my bro, bro.”

Ransom knocks their shoulders together.

 

Ransom, Holster and Shitty stay at Samwell over the summer. The ghosts are surprisingly quiet.

“Well, they’re supposed to be college students right? Maybe they went home for the summer,” Shitty says. The three of them are lying on their backs on the living room floor.

Ransom scoffs and holds his hand out for the joint.

“Okay but do they go home home or astral plane home?” Holster asks.

Ransom groans and rolls over into Holster’s side. Holster just laughs and wraps an arm around Ransom.

 

Halloween that year includes some weird thing in Holster’s care package from his auntie. It looks like one of those light up toys they sell at Disney World.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Holster says. “Probably just another one of her engineering gags.”

Ransom shrugs it off. “Hey, did you ever Google micropenis like I said? Because dude, you’ve really gotta.”

“Oh my GOD, you and the micropenises.”

 

Three weeks into junior year, and Ransom takes back every mean thing he ever said about orgo, because biochem is the literal actual fucking _worst_.

Holster laughs while Ransom keeps his arm flung over his eyes. He’d tossed himself down next to Holster, right on to the grass by the Pond after class, not even bothering with taking off his backpack.

“Bro you say that about every chemistry class.”

Ransom groans. “I know, but it’s true. Every time. Should’ve been an English major.”

Holster laughs. He sounds warm and so, so close as he says, “Last one though, right?”

“Fucking finally,” Ransom says. He moves his arm and opens his eyes to find Holster stretched out on his side, his face only a few inches from Ransom’s. “Until I start studying for the MCATs anyway.”

Holster laughs again. “What a nerd.”

Ransom wants to protest because only one of them is 23 and still obsessing about Harry Potter, and it isn’t him, thanks, but his mouth is too busy.

 

By the time the April of their senior year rolls around, the Haus Ghost Discourse has largely boiled down to trolling. _Obviously_ those girls who are always in his and Holster’s pics are in their class, and _clearly_ the butt pinching and spooky messages are pranks. Just because Ransom hasn’t figured it out doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a list of suspects, _Jack_.

And then Holster and Lardo drop a copy of the _New York Times_ in front of Ransom during breakfast.

“Explain _that_ ,” Lardo says. She looks triumphant. Ransom starts plotting his escape plan.

He picks up the newspaper instead because even four years of experience has yet to give him any self-preservation.

The headline boldly proclaims, “HALLOWEEN COMES EARLY TO NEW YORK.”

Ransom squints at the text. “What the shit is this?”

“Just, you know, the first reporting on the ghostly invasion of New York that happened yesterday,” Lardo says.

“There’s no fucking–”

“Oh,” Lardo says, “there’s a way.”

“You believe this shit?” Ransom says, looking to Holster as his last hope.

“The mayor’s denying it, but–” He flips the paper to the third page and points to a photo of a group of women in jumpsuits. “They’re pretty legit, bro.”

“How do you know?”

Holster gives Ransom a lopsided grin. “Their engineer is Auntie H.”

 

“I _cannot_ fucking _believe_ you didn’t say something sooner!”

Holster turned the lights out in the attic half an hour ago. Ransom feels the bed shift as Holster turns over in his bunk.

“You wouldn’t’ve believed me,” Holster says, “and I don’t blame you. They only just had solid evidence to back up their findings, and the mayor is _still_ denying that yesterday’s attack was actually ghosts.”

Ransom breathes heavily through his nose. “Bro I literally had notes in my physics class about Jillian Holtzmann! Like, we read one of her papers! And she’s your aunt!”

“Well, technically second cousin, but at six, I was determined to call her ‘second cousin Jillian,’ so my parents just went with ‘aunt.’”

“Not the point, Holtzy! You’re related to genius scientists and you didn’t tell me!”

Holster laughs. “Sorry, bro. I promise to introduce you guys at Thanksgiving.”

Ransom pretends to consider Holster’s peace offering. “Okay, deal,” he says.

“I’m so glad,” Holster says. He sticks his feet up against the underside of Ransom’s mattress. “Night, bro. Love you.”

Ransom pulls his sheets tighter around his shoulders, suddenly giddy. “Love you back, Holtzy.”

 

Ransom wakes up suddenly to snapping gum and giggling.

“Goddamnit Mandy and Jenny!” he says, scrambling down the ladder and into Holster’s bunk.

The giggling cuts off abruptly. Ransom grins against Holster’s chest. Victory at long last.

 

“Okay but what do we do if a ghost appears? Like, are we _really_ sure this is safe? Daylight apparently means nothing to ghosts.”

Holster laughs and tugs Ransom through the crowd to a better view of the Pride Parade.

“Babe, it’s fine, don’t worry about it! Apparently they mostly just slime on you.”

Ransom frowns at that, because being slimed on sounds frankly disgusting and ridiculously alarming, what if there are side effects? Are you listening Holtzy? This is important.

Holster laughs again and jostles Ransom until he’s standing with his back to Holster’s chest. Holster wraps his arms around Ransom and presses a kiss to his temple. “I’ll ask Erin and Abby about it.”

Ransom leans back. “Thanks bro.” He cranes his head back. Holster leans down and kisses him. “Knew you had my back,” Ransom says.

“Always,” Holster says.

 

By virtue of an incredibly lucky miracle, Ransom actually has time to go to Holster’s first home game with the Islanders. He’s emotionally and mentally exhausted from classes all week, but damnit, nothing is going to ruin this moment.

Except for a class three apparition.

Ransom sighs. He can see Holster looking back into the stands for Ransom and shrugging in a “What’re you gonna do?” gesture.

Ransom sighs and hits the third number on his speed dial. “Call the fucking Ghostbusters,” he mutters.

 

**Coda**

“So this is the guy, huh?”

There’s a woman with blonde hair standing next to Holster. She has her arm around his waist, and Holster as his arm around her shoulders. Her glasses look like something out of a Jettson’s episode. She’s also wearing a Ghostbusters jumpsuit.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Holster says. He grins.

“Hey,” Ransom says as he stops next to them. Holster’s hair is still wet from his post-game shower.

The woman puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes at Ransom.

“Describe the haunting again for me?” she says. She starts circling Ransom.

“Uh, Holtzy…” Ransom says. He watches the woman out of the corner of his eye, because he’s pretty sure he knows who she is. He can’t decide if he should be excited or not.

Holster just laughs, the asshole.

“How cute! We have the same nickname!” the woman says, and yep, definitely Jillian Holtzmann. “I always knew you were my favorite nephew.”

Holster rolls his eyes. “Auntie, I’m your only nephew. It doesn’t count.” It sounds like an old argument.

Jillian Holtzmann hums. “Maybe,” she says. She finishes her slow circling of Ransom and stops in front of him. Her face brightens in a too-wide grin. “Jillian Holtzmann, engineer extraordinaire, specializing in particle physics.” She bobs her head from side to side. “More or less. Call me Holtzmann.” She sticks her hand out for Ransom to shake.

He does. “Justin, med student, very confused,” he says, because he’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do here. It’s not like anyone told him he’d be meeting family today, _Holster_. He glares at Holster, who’s moved to stand beside him. Holster just shrugs and smiles lazily. His arm rests warm and heavy across Ransom’s shoulders.

“Fascinating,” Holtzmann says.

“Um,” Ransom says, “what’s fascinating?”

“Well,” she says, except she’s starting to look like she’s not talking to Ransom at all, “I’ll have to do more tests, it’s a totally unresearched field, but you _could_ be a conduit. A fascinating idea, really, we’ll have to look into it at the lab.”

Ransom’s eyes widen. He’s halfway through saying, “You can’t just start researching on human subjects!” when there’s a loud, “Holtzy!” shouted from behind them.

Jillian Holtzmann ducks around Holster. “Patty!” she says.

Ransom and Holster look, and sure enough, another Ghostbuster is walking towards them. She looks equal parts amused and exasperated.

“Holtzman,” Patty says, “what did I say about bothering nice young gentlemen?”

Holtzmann rolls her eyes. If there was ever a picture of chagrin, it wasn’t her. “To not,” she says.

Patty nods, apparently happy with this, and holds out her arm. Holtzmann tucks herself into Patty’s side. The only time Ransom’s ever seen someone more content is when Bitty pulls a pie out of the oven, and even then, it’s a toss up.

Patty turns to Ransom and Holster, a smile on her face so wide, Ransom can’t help but feel like he’s exactly the person Patty wanted to see today.

“Adam!” she says. “I’m not one for hockey – so _violent_ , you need your teeth, baby! – but that was very nice out there. And this must be your young man! Come on and get some food with us, Abby and Erin went to pick it up. It might be soup, but it’ll be good.”

Holster, Ransom thinks as they follow Holtzmann and Patty, never gets to complain about an Oluransi family dinner again. At least those don’t involve fucking _ghosts_ , Holster.

Predictably, Holster just laughs and holds him closer. The kiss on his temple is a nice touch though.

Holtzmann perks up. “Well, most are of what you commonly term ghosts are really third class apparitions and–”

Patty catches the pained look on Ransom’s face. “Oh, you and me are gonna get along just fine,” she tells him.

**Author's Note:**

> there was absolutely gratuitous handwaving of the _Ghostbusters_ timeline involved
> 
> comments always welcome and appreciated!


End file.
